Firewhiskey, Kneazles and Night terrors, oh my!
by Madea's Rage
Summary: Snape has a nightmare, and realizes how deeply lazy the author really is.


**A/N:**

**Love to reviewers.**

**Countess Black noticed the parade of gloom and doom that is my profile and asked me to write something a little lighter, so I thought I'd--**

_This is an outrage! I forbid you muggles from reading it. When I find Malfoy (because clearly he had something to do with this) I intend to carve out his liver. _

_Plotting revenge,_

_Severus Snape, Potions Master_

Snape knew he shouldn't have indulged in three fire whiskies. He usually limited himself to one, but the sudden knowledge that his godson was old enough to marry had sent him into a small depression. So he'd finished the bottle and wavered unsteadily to bed, glad in a hazy, drunken way that no one was about to see him like this.

Struggling into his nightshirt, he climbed into bed and burrowed under the covers. The room was spinning. As he fell asleep, he wondered whether the whiskey would affect his dreams…

He was in a bright place. Sunshine beamed down on him from under the gently swaying limbs of the trees. He blinked, stepping onto a mysterious, yellow brick path that had appeared at his feet. There was something strange about this place, to be sure.

Laughter drifted from down the lane. Scowling, he resolved to find people to help him get back to his damp, drafty house. Pulling his robes tighter about him in the unseasonable warmth, he walked toward the mirth that was attacking his ears like some sort of vicious pygmy puff.

"'Ello, Snape! Won' you come an' join us?"

Turning, Snape saw Hagrid, flowers woven in his beard and hair, dancing about an enormous maypole with Luna Lovegood and a grinning Neville Longbottom.

"Yes, professor, do come. It's ever so much fun." Lovegood offered him a posy, which he took with distaste. "Indeed, no, Miss Lovegood. I have…things…I must attend to."

"Are you sure, professor?" Longbottom looked sad. "I thought we could discuss Washburn's theory of interactions in the Draught of Living Death."

"Wha—what?"

Longbottom showed him the medallion hanging about his neck. "I've won potions student of the year again. Don't you remember?"

"How wonderful. I must be going. Good day, all."

He made his way a bit farther down the path, only to find Crabbe and Goyle sitting in a mossy glen, basket of kneazles between them, setting out saucers of cream for the little balls of fluff.

"Good day, professor. Come and cuddle some kneazles with us?"

"I will not! Slytherins do not cuddle! One hundred lines for each of you!"

"Then would you rather prance through the enchanted grove? The unicorns will be there."

"Indeed no! Slytherins do NOT prance!"

Crabbe smiled. "Well, all right then. Come back if you change your mind."

"Oi, Vince?"

"Yeah, Greg?"

"Should we give him a kneazle? Might cheer him up."

"A good idea, that. Here you go, professor." Snape somehow had a handful of kneazle, which looked at him soppy, love struck eyes and started to purr. "Damn it, I . Do. Cute." He tucked the kneazle into the pocket of his robe and stomped down the path, cognizant of the fact the kneazle had poked it's head from his pocket to watch the scenery.

Ahead, a group was picnicking near a waterfall. To his shock, he saw it was Lucius Malfoy and his wife, with Draco and Granger nearby, playing in the water. When they saw him, all four waved and grinned.

"Severus, you've made it! Do come and join us."

"Malfoy? Are you…smiling?"

"Of course I am. Narcissa, love, do tell him to stay."

"Lucius is quite right, Severus. Come and sit down."

Snape started backing away. "This is hell, isn't it? I'm in hell."

Draco and Granger danced merrily toward him. "Godfather, please have something to eat with us. Hermione made a cake."

"Malfoy, are you…frolicking? SLYTHERINS DO NOT FROLIC!"

"Is that a kneazle? How precious." She cooed, and the little fluffy creature hopped from Snape's robes and into Granger's hands.

"Good to see he's found a new home. How do I get home from here?"

"Follow the yellow brick road."

"That's strangely familiar."

"I can't imagine why. Anyway, just follow the yellow brick road."

Snape obeyed, walking as quickly as possible to discourage any more bizarre encounters. He narrowly avoided a run in with Minerva McGonagall, who was skipping through a field of wild flowers. He ducked Hooch and Trelawney, who were playing leapfrog in front of a grotto.

At the end of the path, Snape was somehow unshocked to find Dumbledore. "Albus? Didn't I kill you?"

"Well, yes, dear boy. But don't worry, I bear you no ill will."

"How comforting. How do I leave this hideous wasteland? I miss my cold, dank house."

"Why, Severus, you've always been able to go home. It's within you."

"Yes, obviously, but how the hell do I do it?"

"Just click your heels three times and say ' I'd like to go home now'."

"Fine. Good day, Albus." He had the strangest feeling they were skirting a copywrite violation.

"Goodbye, Severus. Do try to lighten up."

He woke in his room and slid a hand up to touch the cold, slightly damp wall. "Oh, thank Merlin, I'm home!"

He suddenly became aware that he was grinning. Adjusting his face into a more Slytherin expression, he set about his day, judging the hangover a small price to pay for escape from the hell of cheerfulness and sunshine.


End file.
